


We Fall Like Playing Cards

by dearxalchemist



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Mission, Threesome, answered prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8335066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: Napoleon draws the bottle free from her grip and swallows down his own drink. It’s practically obscene the way he seals his lips around the bottle and Gaby rolls her eyes at his theatrics, dragging her fingers along the back of Illya’s head, letting him lean his forehead close to her sternum. Napoleon puts the bottle down and steps up to the couch, his hand moving around her middle. “Now, Gaby.” His boyish charm oozes into his words. “Accept his apology.” She scoffs and pulls no punches with Napoleon, “Where is your apology? Hm? As I recall you are the one who left me in the building.” Illya growls softly and his grip on her dress tightens. Gaby smooths her hand along the back of his head and then down to the slope of his neck, kneading the skin there for a moment to calm the Russian bear.





	

**Prompt: blueincandescence. Gaby being overwhelmed in the best possible way by her boys. The whole shebang (heh) — holding her down, lifting her up, fingering, oral, dp would be amazing. Sort of a play fight vibe would be ideal, but, really, anything that gets Gaby losing her mind. Illya being very serious about after care would be the cherry on top.**

****

Gaby’s anger flares and Napoleon knows they’re in trouble by the distinct ticking in her jaw. Her arms are crossed over the front of her, her fingers are drumming angrily against her upper arms. Her dress is torn at the waist, expensive and ruined, her hair is just as bad. The beautiful barrette he stole for her has been ripped free of soft curls. Her dark eyes are burning with frustration, and she pulls away from Illya when he tries to put a calming hand on her elbow. Their tall Russian comrade lowers his head, resembling for a moment a young puppy obediently tucking his tail between his legs as she pushes past the both of them and bee-lines for the drink cart that’s wedged against the wall and old radio. 

She skips the radio and moves right for a decanter with a thick crystal neck and pours the amber liquid into a tumbler, not bothering to soak up what dribbles over the side and down her bruised knuckles. Gaby throws the tumbler back and swallows it down hard, gulping into the quiet room as she finishes off the glass. Then she makes both of the men take a sharp breath as she drags her tongue over her knuckles, lapping up whatever is left of the expensive whiskey. 

Illya turns a soft shade of pink and Napoleon’s lips split into a charming grin. He is first to act, undoing the buttons of his three piece and tossing the jacket aside with a certain sort of carelessness that catches her attention. Gaby moves for the bottle again and Napoleon already has his fingers in his tie, tugging it off as he takes a few short steps to her. Gaby isn’t playing with him though; he bows his head in and she presses her palm to his face, pushing him back, before taking a long drink from the bottle. She smacks her lips a little too loud and saunters towards Illya who is watching her through thick golden lashes. He’s leaning back against the couch. She steps up onto the cushions to be tall — to get his attention, ruined dress and all. Bottle hanging limply in her fingers, she reaches forward, knocking Illya’s little hat off of his head. 

“Gaby.” Illya’s voice is low and thick, warning her not to keep going. But she does. She drags her calloused fingers through his tidy locks of hair and winds her fingers along the back of his head, drawing him back to expose a long line of his throat. The muscles in his jaw twitch. His grip on the back of the couch tightens and turns his knuckles pale and bloodless. 

“No.” he snaps the word carefully and the tension in the shared hotel room turns thick. She keeps Illya’s head tilted and goes back to her bottle. The alcohol coats the inside of her cheeks and sloshes in her empty stomach. It’s hitting her hard. The world swirls slightly, but she doesn’t care. She swallows down the last bit of her drink before Napoleon is there to drag it away from her. A soft sound of protest leaves her lips but it’s gone when Illya’s grip on the couch shifts to her hips. He spreads a palm over the side of her ruined dress. His index finger and thumb stop to rub at the soft fabric, marveling at the shape of her under couture fashion. Gaby swats at him with her free hand. He lets go for just a moment only to knock her fingers aside, much more gentle with her than how she is with him. 

No matter how many times she knocks him aside and attempts to tackle him, Illya stays gentle with her. Napoleon gives her a little less leeway. When she swats him, he swats back and usually leaves red handprints on the fleshy parts of her body that always drive her a little more wild. 

“I am sorry,” Illya whispers quietly, accent thick and low. She hums at the feeling of his hands on her. He is slow and deliberate with his movements, dragging his palms over the slope of her hip, fingers curling into the fabric. He bunches it up in his palms, pulling it up her legs like she’s the last present on Christmas morning. He exposes her tawny thigh to the room, dragging the fabric higher and higher. The dress is partially singed and ripped; it was expensive and bought just for her and this mission. He doesn’t quite meet her gaze. Instead his blue eyes are watching the ceiling. Her feet sink into the plush couch cushions and she wants to kneel forward, drag him in for a kiss, but something stops her. 

Napoleon draws the bottle free from her grip and swallows down his own drink. It’s practically obscene the way he seals his lips around the bottle and Gaby rolls her eyes at his theatrics, dragging her fingers along the back of Illya’s head, letting him lean his forehead close to her sternum. Napoleon puts the bottle down and steps up to the couch, his hand moving around her middle. “Now, Gaby.” His boyish charm oozes into his words. “Accept his apology.” 

She scoffs and pulls no punches with Napoleon, “Where is your apology? Hm? As I recall you are the one who left me in the building.” 

Illya growls softly and his grip on her dress tightens. Gaby smooths her hand along the back of his head and then down to the slope of his neck, kneading the skin there for a moment to calm the Russian bear.

“If you recall I was getting the car.” Solo’s hand drags over the curve of her ass. He is far from boyish in the way he lifts the hem to expose the edge of her satin panties to the hotel room. He marvels at the curve of her ass, leans in and presses a soft kiss just below the thin fabric. Gaby reaches her free hand back and attempts to swat Solo’s dark head away, but he nips at her fingers and then draws a hand up just to let his palm smack there. He is quick and sharp with the swat. Gaby squeaks and Illya’s grip on her tightens. He reaches for Napoleon, grabbing for the man, but their thief is too quick. 

The three of them play this game so well it makes Gaby laugh. Never in a million years did she dream of escaping the Wall into the arms of two men. 

“Getting car is just excuse,” Illya murmurs against the front of her. He is still sour with Napoleon for the swat on her bottom and he melts into ther,gently pressing his forehead between her breasts. The back of the couch still separates them and Gaby can’t help but sway a little. The booze in her belly is making the world a little too wobbly for her liking. She hums softly at Illya’s words as he carries on. “Cowboy was busy in coat closet.”

“Jealous?” Napoleon edges back behind her, no longer fearing Illya. He busies himself against her skin, leaning in and lifting her dress, hooking it over the edge of her stockings before letting his lips playfully pepper kisses along the back of her thighs, prickling her skin with excitement. 

“Hardly,” Illya murmurs into Gaby’s sternum, lips pressing against the thin fabric there. Gaby shivers at the contact stroking Illya’s shoulders now, giving him a touch of comfort before swaying too much. Her balance is compromised and Illya drops the dress bunched up in his hands to wrap his arms around her middle. With little effort he draws her in and lifts her up. Napoleon sighs as Illya tears Gaby away from him. Gaby wraps her legs around his middle and grinds down against him just to see him blush. He turns such pretty colors against her and she grins wider. Her lips press to the edge of his scarred temple. She grinds down again, feeling his hands tighten and shake. 

“Solo likes to share a little too much,” Gaby sighs and leans in, drawing her lips against Illya’s temple and then dropping them down to the shell of his ear. She listens to the change in his breathing when she sucks softly on his earlobe, nibbling non-too-gently on the sensitive skin. 

“You keep doing that and we will not make it to bed,” Illya murmurs softly.Gaby snickers while keeping up the action as Illya walks to the room. She glances over his shoulder and grins to Napoleon, inviting him in with them like always. Napoleon never joins them unless he’s invited. He prefers to keep himself a gentleman while dipping his toes into their pool. As soon as Napoleon hesitates to make a move Illya pauses his steps, turning to face him with a questioning look. “Coming, Cowboy?” 

Gaby twists in Illya’s hold and her smile is sloppy as she purses her lips. “You owe me for a ruined dress you know.” 

“I do, don’t I?” The American charm is back as he resumes following them into the inner sanctum of the hotel room. There is a queen-sized bed in the room and Gaby wishes it was one of those new king-sized ones for Illya’s comfort. They will make the most of it, though. Gaby’s fingers grip at Illya’s turtleneck and she’s started to pull it over his head. He allows her to yank the knitted top off of his head before depositing her on the bed. Napoleon joins them, moving around the opposite side and reaching for the back of Gaby’s dress. His thieving fingers find the zipper and drag it down her back while Illya removes her shoes. Gaby’s hands drag over his naked back and she plays with the hard lines of his scars and muscles, enjoying the way they ripple under his skin as he draws his hands along her legs. Illya’s hands are on her ankles and he takes his time, slowly moving up the slope of her calf and helping Napoleon draw away the dress as soon as the zipper is down. 

The three of them are playing a dangerous game. Their missions have gotten longer, the stakes are always higher, and the stress bears down on them in a bone-crushing sensation. They’ve found the best solution though in one another. Gaby loves Illya and Illya loves Gaby, but Napoleon loves them, too, and Gaby won’t say how she really feels until she’s fully sated and wrapped up in the sheets. 

“You’re being too soft,” Gaby murmurs when Illya unhooks her stockings. He is so careful and slow, drawing them down her legs and folding them. The alcohol has made her even more impatient. Illya takes off her second stocking and Gaby turns to Napoleon who is kneeling on the edge of the mattress. Keeping her back to Illya she crawls across the soft covers of the bed and kneels up to meet Napoleon at eye level. He leans in as if to kiss her and she draws a hand up just to smack his cheek.

“Ow! Gaby,” Napoleon shouts. Illya makes a sound that almost sounds like a laugh.

“Just wait till she wants to dance.” His blue eyes sparkle and Solo rubs at the red spot on his cheek while Gaby hooks her fingers into his belt. His dark suit pants are tented. She makes a show of rubbing her palm over the front of him. He hisses and she grants him a grin that is almost cruel just before the mattress dips. 

Illya’s hands splay over her sides to trace up the bends of her arms, following her palm over Solo’s pants just to hear the American hiss again. Napoleon’s dark head falls back. Gaby presses back into Illya shamelessly. The alcohol is all she has in her belly after a long night in the field. She wants to play, she wants to get a little lost in the two of them. Illya draws her around, breaking all contact with Napoleon and pulls her in. They kiss for the first time all night. Her lips are warm and chaste. He draws his tongue over her bottom lip while Napoleon makes busy work of his pants, tossing them over the edge of the bed before sidling up behind Gaby.

Without warning, Illya lifts her. His calloused hands mold over her thighs and he lifts her up and instead of pulling her in, he pushes her into Napoleon. The kiss breaks and Illya says something in Russian. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are a bright red, which makes Gaby lick her own lips. Napoleon of course understands the command and puts his hands where Illya’s are. Napoleon holds her now and he isn’t shy about spreading her legs a little wider, letting her fall back against his chest. Gaby’s lips curve up and she whispers something in German. It’s filthy — taunting him. She likes to dangle the prey before the predator. 

Illya growls.

Napoleon laughs, head falling down into the crook of her neck. He draws his talented tongue over the long expanse of her throat, licking up the faint taste of clean sweat and salt. Gaby moans and Illya settles between her spread legs, still on his knees — ready for salvation before her. He traces up her thighs, watching the dancer’s muscles twitch. His fingers are rough and calloused, years of use and abuse have made them this way, but Gaby does not flinch. Instead she presses closer and nearly howls when he pushes two fingers against the front of her satin panties. Illya is careful and calculating, tracing the fabric until a dark spot starts to soak into the fabric. Gaby twists against Napoleon but he only holds her tighter. 

“What is it?” Illya asks softly as he traces the front of her panties. Gaby’s breath hitches and she licks over her lips again, pushing her hips up a little closer to him. He brushes a knuckle over the front of her panties and playfully dips a finger against the seam. She wiggles and Napoleon mutters something about her being feisty — unreasonably squirming in his hold, she ignores him and focuses on Illya who is being tortuously slow. The ex-KGB agent is taking his time, pulling the expensive lingerie aside and exposing her to both her partners. The cool air against her skin makes her shiver and she closes her eyes. 

Her knees don’t even brush the mattress as Napoleon holds her up for Illya’s personal inspection. Gaby’s moan runs along his spine and the American has to suck in a deep breath just to hold still. 

Gaby murmurs a threat and Illya smirks, unphased by her dirty mouth. He instead lets his middle finger run along her slick folds. She melts. He watches her chest heave as she pants. Illya traces the sensitive flesh there, slow agonizing circles, and then suddenly presses his calloused thumb over her clit. She rocks up and Napoleon bites back a moan as she falls back into him, pushing into his hard cock.

She growls out Illya’s name.The golden haired man gives her a faint smirk. The edges of his lips curve but that’s all she gets. 

Napoleon’s hands tighten on her, threatening to bruise the tender flesh, but no one is objecting. Not even when Illya plunges a finger into her and Napoleon almost loses his grip. They’re making delicious sounds together, filling the room and his ears with the sound of his partner’s fingers fucking the slick flesh between her legs. Gaby practically falls to pieces in the next few moments. Illya’s fingers are long and lovely as he drags them back and forth just to see her lips part in surprise as his thumb brushes her clit once more. 

“God,” Napoleon breathes out against her throat as he looks over her shoulder. He can see past her slight breasts to Illya’s slick and shining wrist. He swallows hard and Gaby twists in his hold again. He rocks his hips up into hers from behind, letting her grind down onto him and Illya. Napoleon’s mouth finds the soft patch of flesh where her pulse is jumping. He bites and sucks, leaving behind a childish mark which makes Illya’s temper flare as he quickens his fingers. Gaby can barely breathe. A moan tumbles from her lips and she shudders. Illya’s slick fingers slowly slip away from her and she chases him, hips arching from the sudden loss. 

Sweat clings to her skin. Her hair is matted down and her makeup is smeared. She can hardly hide her excitement when Illya draws his hand up and licks over his knuckle before pushing his fingers against her lips. The mechanic wrinkles her nose and Illya rolls his eyes for a moment before letting his hand drop to Napoleon’s mouth. Napoleon is greedy, sucking at Illya’s fingers. He lets the taste of Gaby coat his tongue and the sight alone makes her flush all over again. 

Illya draws his fingers away from Napoleon’s mouth and leans in. The two share a kiss and Gaby makes a protesting noise. “You two are supposed to be making up tonight to me.” She sounds almost like a child, whining because she is no longer the favorite toy. 

“We have not forgot you,” Illya murmurs in a chastising like tone as Napoleon draws her in for a kiss, lowering her to the mattress. She can taste herself on his lips and even more so when he practically pleads for her to part her lips along his own. His tongue is talented in so many ways. He sweeps it over her lips and lets himself fall victim to her warm mouth. His tongue slides over hers as her knees press back into the mattress. Gaby whines in protest as Illya pulls her away from the kiss. 

A pair of hands end up on her hips and then her panties are pulled down slowly. They’re lost in the small pile on the floor just like that. She doesn’t seem to care. Excitement pulses along her flesh. She hasn’t had both of them in what feels like months. 

Illya soothes her with a hand on her cheek and draws her up into him. While she was kissing Solo, Illya lost his pants and his boxers are gone, too.His cock slips along her legs teasingly. He draws the head of himself back and forth over her slick center just to listen to her moan. Her insides are still warm and the night is still considerably young. 

She wants to climb over him and take everything that belongs to her. 

After a mission like tonight's, she deserves this. Or at least that’s what she tells herself as Illya draws her further onto the bed, pulls her up against him so they’re chest to chest. The rest of her dress gets pushed down and he lowers his head just to kiss her through the thin lacy fabric of her strapless bra. His mouth finds a nipple and he soaks the fabric there, lavishing her with attention while she grinds down against his bare cock. Her hand reaches back for Napoleon but he’s not there anymore. She wraps her free arm around Illya’s neck and turns just enough to see Napoleon losing his pants. He’s got a hand on his cock and he’s making a show of getting himself off to the sight of them alone. 

“Stop that,” Gaby pants softly and shifts against Illya who is busy worshipping her, only to pause to look around her. He watches Napoleon slow his hand and raises a brow to the woman before him. “I don’t want him coming yet.” She pats Illya’s cheek, guiding him back to her breast and waits for Napoleon to join them. “Come here Solo. Put your mouth to good use for once in your life.” 

Her words make Illya chuckle. It’s practically music to her ears as he draws her in tighter, as if to keep Napoleon from touching her. Gaby lifts a knee and presses her thigh to Illya’s hip, grinding down against him once more. She’s still wet and needy, rubbing herself against him for just one more spark — one more promise of an orgasm. Illya obliges her and drags his cock over her again. She hums and rocks her hips into his. He slips inside of her easily, giving her a delicious stretch and the sensation of being full. A moan leaves her and her head falls onto his shoulder. 

The mattress dips behind her and Napoleon lays down, rolls onto his back, drawing Gaby’s hips in close. His hands cover Illya’s for a moment and the two fight over her, jerking her one way or another. Napoleon wins and settles himself between her thighs. His nose brushes the edge of her hot skin, and it’s her turn to hiss now. Illya pulls out just enough for Napoleon to lap at her slick folds. The sudden action makes her jerk. Gaby hooks both arms around Illya’s neck and gasps. Illya rocks back into her, and Solo steadies her hips, lapping up along her sensitive skin, dragging his teeth over her soft inner thigh. 

“Is this better?” Napoleon asks against her flesh. Gaby nods against Illya’s shoulder but he can’t hear her so he turns his head over and bites again. This time he bites hard, pinching the soft skin between his teeth, making her grind down over his lips. Illya gasps now. She’s clenching around him, drawing his cock in deep. He utters a Russian prayer and Gaby rocks forward once again, shuddering. Napoleon drags his tongue over the bite mark on her thigh. He soothes it away with the flat of his tongue and then goes back to work as Illya draws Gaby in closer. One talented flick of his tongue has her coming undone. She shouts Napoleon’s name, which makes Illya frown as she shakes against him, rocking harder over the two of them, letting herself come down from the orgasm. Napoleon smirks and attempts to chase her orgasm with another swipe of his tongue but Illya is there, lifting her away from the American. 

Illya thrusts into her again. The sound of skin on skin fills the room. It makes her blush and moan. Her thoughts are a dizzying haze. 

Napoleon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smacking his lips obscenely. If Illya wasn’t already fucking her, she would blush. Illya drops his mouth to her shoulder, peppers kisses there, draws a line up to her sharp jaw, memorizing every dip and curve of her as Napoleon sits back on the bed. He’s propped himself up on the pillows, hand back on his cock, watching them with rapt attention. Illya’s hands slip over her sides, palms against the small of her back. He watches Napoleon watch them and draws his hand lower over the red handprint on her ass. He smoothes there, dragging her hips harder into his. Sweat slips down her back, she is sticky to the touch and he can’t stop touching her. He can’t stop watching Napoleon and the idea hits him hard when Napoleon’s gaze slips between the two of them.

Illya turns his head over and kisses Gaby’s cheek, muttering against her flesh, “Can the Cowboy take you?” His palm slides lower, splaying over the curve of her ass. He spreads her legs a little wider, prying her apart just to thrust deeper into her. 

Gaby moans and nods, stutters out the words, “Yes. Yes, whatever you — ” She’s panting now, trying to let herself go against him. Her thoughts are a million different pieces and all she cares about is the next push over the proverbial cliff.

“No, Gaby.” Illya slips his hand lower between her cheeks. His calloused finger presses over her ass and she jerks against him. A dark blush spreads over her cheeks and she parts her lips in surprise as he draws himself out of her tight cunt. The sudden loss of her makes him lose his breath. He drags his fingers over her dripping folds and then rubs them back over the same sensitive spot. She squirms, pressing tighter to his chest. He growls low in his throat when she nips the underside of his jaw. Illya pushes the bare tip of his index finger into her ass and she yelps. Illya lets his cheek brush hers, murmuring softly, “Like this, both.” 

A shuddering breath passes over her. She is wound up high, dangerously perched on a highwire and threatening to fall into no safety net. Illya presses a kiss to her eyelids, then once more just along the curve of her cheek. She relaxes, trusts them both to keep her safe and cared for. 

“Easy on her Peril.” Napoleon reaches over and rapts on Illya’s wrist. 

Gaby isn’t sure if there’s enough alcohol in her for this. Nervousness flutters across her nerves and she gasps softly when Napoleon sides up behind her. He strokes over her back, drags his thieving fingers down over her smooth skin and replaces Illya’s finger with own. Gaby holds her breath, expecting pain but it never comes. Napoleon uses a softer touch. She turns her head over and there’s a bottle on the nightstand. Sometime during their tumble he’s pulled it out. His finger is slick and warm. He’s patient and gentle, making her gasp with every crook of his finger. Illya strokes the side of her face. He smooths back her hair and runs a hand down between her legs. He presses his thumb over her clit and she jerks her hips back. Napoleon makes a soft sound and Gaby settles into the feel of him. 

“This won’t work,” she pants softly, but before she can protest anymore Illya is stroking back between her legs and she feels the familiar electricity striking hard across her nerves. 

“Easy Chop Shop Girl,” Illya soothes away the worry. 

Swallowing, Napoleon pulls back just long enough to reach for the nightstand again. The drawer opens and closes with a sharp snap. Gaby doesn’t get a chance to look at what the American thief is doing because Illya uses his free hand to direct her head up to his. His lips are searing against her own as he draws her back in, coaxing her like a fly into a spider’s web. She presses into him and he lifts her up just enough to push his cock back into her. Her groans feed his own. He shudders at the feeling of her surrounding him. Her legs lock around him and he lifts her up a bit higher, rocking up into her. 

Napoleon draws the condom on and, before Gaby knows what’s happening, Illya is pushing her back into the American’s chest. Napoleon’s hands wrap around her middle, palms sliding higher. He cups each of her breasts and Illya draws her a little wider for him. 

They go slow.

She loses her breath. 

There are sparks behind her eyes. A million little sparks like fireworks go off in her head. Her muscles tense but Illya soothes those away. He draws his hands back and forth over her, dragging them down to her thighs where he holds her up and open, letting Napoleon fully envelop himself in her. Napoleon’s eyes screw shut, his little rogue curl is plastered against his forehead, slick with sweat. 

Napoleon thrusts into her now. 

“Oh, God!” Gaby shouts, then she curses low in her native tongue. 

The sudden intrusion makes her shiver. 

He draws his cock out and then thrusts again. 

Her anger from earlier is gone. Most of the whiskey is subsiding in her belly, leaving her warm and loose. She pushes her hips back into Napoleon’s. The new sensation is like fire along her legs. Each stroke is something different. Before she can protest, her Russian is there. His hands stroke lower and he holds her open a little wider, pushing his cock back into her slick center. 

Illya thrusts deep and Gaby lets out a strangled cry as she’s pushed further onto Napoleon. The three of them move slow and out of rhythm. One of Gaby’s hands is wound in Napoleon’s hair, pulling him into her neck, while her other hand is on Illya’s chest. She traces an old bullet wound too close to his heart for her comfort. Her thumb slips over the thick scar tissue and he reaches up to cover her hand. He pulls her hand up and kisses the back of it before pulling her forward against him.

Napoleon pushes Illya, then Gaby — he presses his chest to Gaby’s back, sandwiching her between them. Gaby shouts, her eyes are shut and she can’t seem to find her words as Illya thrusts up and Napoleon draws out only to push himself back against her. 

“Oh.” Gaby repeats the word, her lips open against Illya’s chest. She can’t concentrate enough to kiss him. The world explodes behind her eyelids as Illya growls out a broken version of her name. “Again,” she breathes. 

Napoleon’s hand slips up her back and he winds it into her snarled hair. He pulls, drawing her head up, “Say it again, Peril. For the lady.” 

Illya opens his blue eyes and takes in the sight of a flushed Gaby, with swollen lips and her head pulled back, exposing her throat and jaw to him. He almost loses himself at the sight of her, his tongue feels thick in his mouth and he isn’t sure he can find the words as Napoleon thrusts harder this time. Gaby nearly screams, her hips crashing into his harder. “Gaby!” Illya shouts her name again and she smirks — he comes, barely pulling out in time. He leaves behind a white trail, letting it stick to her thighs. His thumb plays in the mess, drawing sticky circles as he catches his breath. Gaby is close again.

He can tell by the way her hands clench in the covers. Each thrust from Napoleon sends her closer and closer to his chest. Her thighs shake against his fingers and he plays a dangerous game now. He toys with her clit while Napoleon fully pushes himself inside of her. Gaby squirms — shouts, loses herself. There is no name shouted this time. 

She is a quivering mess, sticky and shiny. 

Napoleon’s hands slip over her hips and he thrusts a few more times before pulling himself free. He drags the condom off and she reaches back, hand finding his cock. She gives him a few brusque tugs with calloused fingers. He gasps and finishes himself right there against the back of her legs. She tries to kneel but her strength is useless.

She feels boneless and tired. Exhausted and deliciously worn out. 

The alcohol and sex has worn her down. She wants to curl into the sheets between the two men and sleep. A yawn pulls at her lips as her breathing slows. Napoleon bumps his forehead against her own, drawing her off of Illya who slips off of the bed and heads for the bathroom. Gaby kisses the American,sloppy and wet, just before Illya comes back into the room. He clears his throat and Gaby pulls away, trying to hold off another yawn. 

Napoleon pulls her off the bed long enough for them to take the top cover off, tossing it to the floor for later. It’s Illya that settles her onto the sheets, but not before running a warm wet rag over her legs. He is extra careful, drawing the warm cloth between her legs. He slowly cleans her, reminding her they’re due for a shower. 

Gaby begs for sleep. 

Illya obliges. He kisses her forehead then the bridge of her nose, down to her lips before he cleans up the rest of their mess. Gaby settles back onto the bed where Napoleon has an arm stretched out for her. She needs no invitation.

Eventually they all wind up in the bed. Illya is too big, of course, but he settles in anyways, curls himself around her and plays with the fake ring still on her left hand. It’s a habit of his, to twist it on her finger while he falls asleep against her, his nose buried against her shoulder. Gaby ends up with her legs between Napoleon’s and her back on Illya’s chest. 

They sleep soundly and shower together in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sinning. Sinning hard for this ot3. Okay, so this was possibly my first venture into this kind of territory and yet here I am. All major mistakes are my own. Major thank you to the wonderful @blueincandescence for the beta'ing of my writing. Thank you for reading and please check out the Gallya "after dark" fic blog @gallyakink and submit a prompt or answer a prompt!


End file.
